


These Gestures That We Made

by fictorium (orphan_account)



Series: Lasagna [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Adultery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1x20 The Kitchen Scene. What if it had worked out the way Regina intended?</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Gestures That We Made

When you lean in to kiss him, you’re expecting the sharp sting of rejection. This masochistic streak runs deep, but with everything so out of control in this most controlled of environments, you can’t help it. 

You can almost see the mark she’s left on him, like an angry red brand that hovers over his kind face and gentle eyes. It’s nearly impossible to remember this is a man who once launched a sword at you in anger, who resisted your advances when it would have bought his freedom and an easier life. 

But you kiss him, because you want him. You kiss him because everything here is supposed to make you happy and yet nothing does. You kiss him because he liked the lasagna and he saved your one indulgence—the ice-cream—from melting. 

You kiss him because he’s there, and that’s why you almost forget how to breathe when he kisses you back.

”Regina,” he says, his voice somewhere between confused and deferential, when your lips part. His hands are cupping your face now, one thumb stroking gently. You suppose this is the point where he makes excuses about Kathryn, about the stress and confusion, but instead he kisses you this time, his lips soft and insistent. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage of you, David,” your voice is practically a purr as he peppers your jawline with kisses, before he nuzzles intently at your neck. Charming he might once have been, but it’s quite the turn-on to discover he actually knows what to do after charming the girls. Your fingers are gripping his shoulders now—broad, strong, everything you’ve missed since Graham—and his hands are on the move, grabbing possessively at your ass and pulling you closer.

“Not at all,” he assures you, backing you against the kitchen counter where you leaned to tell him that not-entirely fictional story. You weren’t driving of course, not that first day in the new world, and you considered for a long time leaving him there on the grass to die. But something, perhaps in the way his surprisingly peaceful face reminded you of Daniel, made you act. 

The kitchen counter is hard against your back, and you squirm a little to get comfortable. As your hands trail down over David’s chest, firm beneath your palms and the cotton of his t-shirt, he shifts and you feel him getting hard against your hip.

So predictable, really.

Feed them, flatter them and fuck them. It’s something you learned a long time ago, but it’s somehow just a little more charged tonight. Perhaps because he’s so nice, or because he in some way belongs to the people you want to hurt the most and the least.

“Oh,” he sighs against your neck, his light stubble scratching pleasantly against the skin. “What about um, your kid?”

“He won’t be back until eight-thirty,” you soothe, grateful for relenting on the soccer practice that is no doubt another excuse for Henry to slink off with Emma Swan. 

“Good,” David (not James, David) murmurs as his hands travel up your back to the zipper of your dress. You hadn’t dressed for seduction today, no more than usual, but it would seem the lack of plunging neckline hasn’t done any harm. He unzips just far enough to shrug the light wool from your shoulders, and while the dress bunches at your waist, his mouth is hot and wet against the newly exposed skin over your collarbone. It’s a little surprising when he sucks too, leaving a trail of little red marks that he then grazes with his teeth. 

Not such a nice boy after all, and that works even better, you think.

“Upstairs,” you manage to gasp as his hands knead your breasts through your bra. The lace feels especially flimsy under strong hands, and you need desperately to be rid of it, to feel his naked body against your own.

“Yeah?” He asks, thumbs rubbing over your hardening nipples with intent. “Because right here seems just fine to me.”

With that, his hands are on your hips, hoisting you onto your own kitchen counter like it’s nothing at all. And to hell with it, you’re wrapping your legs around him and letting someone else take charge for five damn minutes. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be with someone who actually _wants_  you, no matter how fucked up the reason will no doubt turn out to be.

He hesitates then, hands resting on your thighs. Here it comes, you think. The moment of clarity where he runs off into the night promising to never speak of this again. 

“Well?” You ask, willing him to get it over with.

“You’re really beautiful,” he says, and that stuns you into silence. He actually means it, too, the romantic idiot. You’re already wet, halfway undressed and sitting on the counter with your legs around him, but this charming fool wants to pay you compliments, too?

Your only reply is to push his ugly plaid shirt off, followed by tugging the hem of his t-shirt until it’s bare chest—and  _oh_ , those are some impressive arms—time. He kisses you again, harder this time and just a little desperate. You can’t help but wonder how long he’s waited for contact like this, since his little fling got derailed and his wife walked out on him. He tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth and you can’t stop the little moan that escapes your throat.

“God, Regina,” he says as his mouth trails lower, covering the planes of your breasts with kisses that vary from featherlight to sharp little bites. You haven’t told him he should mark you, but he senses something in you, and you run your fingers over his cropped hair in encouragement. 

Then he’s lifting you, just enough to yank your dress and panties own, until you’re naked but for the heels he makes no attempt to touch. Huh, he must like that. His mouth is skimming the edge of your bra now, tongue rasping against the slight roughness of the material until you reach behind you and unfasten it. He groans in appreciation as the dark lace gets launched across the kitchen. 

“Wow,” he says, before his mouth is busy again, tugging at one nipple and then the other, his hands always moving in perfect counterpoint. You close your eyes and see him, briefly, in leather and steel. You don’t see Snow at his side now, just him alone until you force yourself to look again, looking down at him as he worships you with lips and teeth and tongue. No wonder countless kingdoms have fallen for him, you think. It’s no wonder at all, but tonight he’s yours.

For your part, you unbuckle his belt, the metal and leather cool beneath your fingertips. As you unbutton the fly of his jeans, he stops you, kissing his way down your abdomen until he’s kneeling proudly between your thighs. 

“Oh,” is all you can think to say, as his thumbs massage along the inside of your thighs. “Oh,” is still all you’ve got when his mouth follows the same path as his hands, until his lips are skimming over damp curls and it takes all your remaining self-control not to arch up against his mouth right there and then. 

He licks you with purpose, if not a lot of finesse. There’s no denying how wet you are already, and he seems pleased by that if the way he hums against you is any indication. He slips one finger, then a second inside you, no teasing here. “Fuck,” falls from your lips, so much more profane in the muted lights and creamy tones of the kitchen, and that only turns you on a little more.

“I need…” you try to say, clutching at his hair. “I need more,” you say as his tongue slips and slides around your clit, not yet in a rhythm that will make you come, but if you’re doing this you want all of him, and you want it now.

“Okay,” he says, with one more open-mouthed kiss pressed against your slick pussy. “Okay,” he repeats, getting up off his knees. He slaps your hands away gently when you go for the buttons again, instead he pops them open in one swift tug from his own hands, shoving the white boxer briefs down with the denim. His erection, as it springs free, is an impressive one, and you find yourself smirking in anticipation. Right until he kisses the smile off your lips, letting your taste yourself on him, making you sigh happily against his mouth.

You should probably insist on protection, but the risk that he’ll change his mind is looming, your own insecurities crowding you both. Besides that, you feel this primal need to have him inside you, no barriers to separate you; tonight is about connection, however fleeting. Besides, you think with a dull ache of memory, it’s not as though he could get you pregnant.

Reaching across the limited space between you, you take his cock in hand and slowly run your hand along its length. You consider getting down on your knees too, returning the gesture, but he’s already moving closer again, arching into your touch. It’s a matter of moments until the head is teasing at your entrance, and you’re spreading your legs wider, urging him on.

“David,” you breathe as he pushes all the way in. “Oh, David,” you find his name pleasant on your tongue as he kisses the base of your throat again, thrusting slowly in and out as the tension builds deliciously. You wrap your legs around his hips, pushing on his shoulders for leverage. He catches you, pulling you from the counter until it’s just something to lean against as he picks up the pace, stretching you in the most wonderful way with every thrust.

His breathing is ragged now, and you can feel the rippling muscles in his back, the way his ass tightens beneath your calves. You’re still wearing your heels, of course, and you let the leather make contact with his skin, revelling in the hiss of pleasure it draws from him.

The pressure is building between your hips, and you slip one hand between you as you wrap the other arm around his neck to hold you in place. You’re panting now, seeking out your clit with determination, and it doesn’t take more than a few deft strokes until you’re coming—squeezing around him as you both cry out. He keeps going, damn him, sending you over the edge a second, more powerful time, until he’s shouting against your shoulder and spilling inside of you. 

With trembling arms, he sets you back on the counter. It’s a kindness, because your legs feel too much like jelly to stand. The satisfaction pours through you like a spell, relaxing every taut muscle and making you tingle so much that you can’t help the happy little laugh that escapes.

“Well,” you confess, your forehead still pressed against his. “That wasn’t how I thought my car trouble was going to turn out.”

He’s still inside you, limp now and withdrawing slowly. But when he kisses you, it’s a swift peck to the cheek, and you can taste the finality in the air.

“Regina, I—”

“Yeah,” you sigh, tipping your head back to hide the sudden tears. “Don’t tell me, you’ve got a lot going on right now.”

“I’m not saying—” he tries to protest, cutting through your afterglow with every word. The sweat on both your bodies is cooling now, and you feel ridiculous, naked, on the countertop. At least he looks equally foolish—flaccid, with his pants around his ankles. 

“It’s fine, David,” you assure him, not meaning a word of it. “These things… happen.”

“I really value our friendship,” he attempts, and because he bends to pull up his jeans, he misses the fact that his words have all but stabbed you. You recover control of your expression by the time he stands up again, and you ease yourself off the counter, picking up your dress in turn.

“We can still be friends,” you say quietly. “Though perhaps it’s best that we don’t mention this to Kathryn.”

You say nothing of Mary Margaret, because when it comes to ruining Snow’s life you like to always have something up your sleeve.

“Right,” David agrees, a little too eagerly. “Probably best.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” you explain, though you don’t owe him that. “Can you see yourself out, before Henry gets home?”

“Of course,” he says, still shirtless in your kitchen as you shrug your dress back on. He steps over to zip it up, and you don’t stop him.

“Goodnight,” you say, twisting out of his grip the minute it’s done. He can bruise your pride, maybe, but he won’t get to see that he has. You head for the stairs, his come and yours sticky against your thighs, and you don’t look back. The satisfaction is tainted now, and all you can think of is the scalding water that awaits you, where you can scrub this all away.

In the end, you realize, it would have been kinder if he hadn’t kissed you back in the first place. And for that? Well, he’s going to have to pay.


End file.
